The Lost Boys: 'To Deliver' Or 'The Darkest Tribe'
by BlueInTheFace
Summary: The Lost Boys: Iris (self-made character) explains how the lost boys were gathered, her relationships with each of them, and what it means to deliver.


**'To Deliver' Or 'The Darkest Tribe' is a fanfiction for "The Lost Boys" film--which I do not own or claim to own... However, I do own Iris (my character) and would like her kept safe, so please do not use/misuse/steal her. Many thanks, and enjoy! (R&R, if you please)**  
  
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Type: Movie, 'The Lost Boys'  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Characters: All the Lost Boys, including Iris and Max  
  
Written by: BlueInTheFace21  
  
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'To Deliver' Or 'The Darkest Tribe'  
  
Some of us felt a little trapped at times. Sure, it was simple to feel useless and rejected when you lived in a brilliant resort that had just fallen into the ground years before, and all you did was lurk around, cause trouble, or drink blood. Not many people appreciated that. I cannot imagine that they all of a sudden would. But who am I to judge normal people-- humans? We were still a little human, I suppose, perhaps shadows of humans at the very least.   
  
I by no means felt human after I was changed by Max; he seemed nothing special at a glance, but when David introduced us he immediately had an impact. He is probably the one man to thank for all this morose splendor. Max became this inspiration to extract beauty from society-- my boys-- and form this little orphanage of sorts. I was nearly comfortable living the life I led before Max and David, and blood and nothing but the night; apparently I was looking for something else. These were the two most important men in my life-- ever. Max was more like a distant uncle than a father, who would support you and your siblings from further than arm's reach, but he was still loving in some detached way. I was thankful; without him, I would never have all of these-- these jewels.  
  
Well, I would always have David, I'd like to think. He was that lover so close to you that his breath was your own and being one person inside each other's skin wouldn't be near enough. It was no lust. Lust is not this forgiving. David was a young thing when we met, strong and blond-headed, blue-eyed, and dark-hearted. That bleak heart beat for me before we turned, and my empty heart felt full. We were both young, that cannot be denied. So young. So loving. So honest and right.  
  
After we were made we were mother and father, brother and sister, lovers all the same. Something ran deep between us and within us, through the other and into the self, looping in a strange ever-long exchange of blood. We would give and take, love and make others. In my former life, I had never wanted to bear children, but this opportunity presented itself for me to take others like David and I under my wing. I could teach them, love them, give them a home and a heart. We were certainly better than the torturous streets, and I knew those all too well.   
  
The first was Dwayne. He was dark and seductive, smooth in his movements and cat-like. Beautiful already. Bohemian. But he lacked a home. He lacked a mother and a father and somewhere to stay and feel safe. Lips were never in a shortage for him, so I felt I had little to offer to lure him in. Luckily, I got him talking and he confessed his sins, and we forgave him with David's blood. He drank deeply and savored the taste; Dwayne was never suspicious. I think he knew exactly what we were doing, and he worshipped me for it. He loved David. He loved the blood after that, and relished every drop he could find. The thirst was too strong in him for the first four days; he woke early and was anxious to leave. If we had not looked out for him, he could have rushed headlong into something horrid, but we handled him gingerly. We had to set a good example with our first son, didn't we? So headstrong and tender...  
  
Next was Paul. He was always the black sheep because of his odd sense of humor. I honestly could have lived happily without him, but David was sullen in those days and needed to be released from his own thoughts. He needed to laugh, and Paul was a perfect remedy. I hate to sound so cold about him, but I was very skeptical at first. After some time, though, I softened to his flirtations and flattery in an attempt to be accepted. Paul was never a hassle; obnoxious at times, yes, but never unbearable or a problem. He was an added bonus, a man of gold in a world of black and silver. David let him run amok. I did not mind; I was in no position to ruin anybody's fun. Paul was my gift to David. I would have had him giftwrapped or put on a platter if I thought it would make a bigger impact, but his presence was electric enough. Whenever the three of us were near to each other later on, David would offer silent thanks to me. I felt like a good person for it.   
  
The youngest of our family was Marko. I could never live with myself if I had passed up such a sweet soul. He was kind and tender and child-like in his manners and attempts to please everyone-- especially his parents. By parents, of course, I refer to David and myself. We were the dignitaries. I rarely remember ever speaking of Max to any of them. They met him, of course, but we were the force to be reckoned with despite our gentleness and thirst for independence-- David's thirst was for excitement, mine for knowledge, beauty, and company. We both indulged them in whatever we could offer and share. Max was out of their reach, simply put. Marko, however, made himself available for whatever task or chore or errand we needed done. He admired David. He was shy and delicate with me. I loved the early days with him when he was so uncertain and awkward; he would stay with me while the others went out and rest in my arms on the big canopied mattress. Sometimes we would talk, other nights we would be silent and listen to the ocean outside. We listened to the world revolve around us, unaware. He was always a patient listener and had a smile like honey. I adored that curly hair of his and pierced his ear when he asked. He showered me with gifts and I would have done the same if I thought it were necessary. I never asked for much from him, but he wanted to give and give and give. I never kissed him enough or held him too tightly-- I wish I had.   
  
Distance had begun to seep between us all once Star came into the mix. She diverted our attention and required almost anything we had to offer. That was the reason she drank in the first place. We found her on a clear night when you could see for miles straight up into the heavens. Star became the little sister none of us knew we wanted or needed; she was guarded by David in particular. It was her innocence, he told me, that made her so appealing. She was so naive, I thought. I would have been jealous if she were ever a threat to me, but I knew all these boys better than she could imagine-- my David in particular. My relationship with the girl was an oddity in itself-- caring but harsh at times, words were a slap and a kiss. She was grateful to me. This was obvious. My authority was never questioned. When we stumbled upon her, her clothes were torn and ill-fitting; that's why she dresses like me. I gave her some of my clothing: some skirts and blouses, jewelery and a white shawl with roses on it. It had no sentimental meaning to me, but she defended it dearly. She had so little. I gave her what I could bear to offer someone in such need; David offered her a drink. She took on a persona similar to my own; I would teach her poems and sing gypsy songs to her when she needed a woman's company. Star was my daughter and nothing more.   
  
She restricted herself for a time, so we let her keep a little boy she found. Laddie was immediately drunk with wonderment when she was around; her compassion and concern was admirable. I never got to know Laddie well. He was a little too young for my taste. I never thought he was old enough to understand what it meant to be sent from one life to another with just a drink from a gilded bottle kept hidden in our home. Every one of us was afraid of keeping him unless he would drink. It was like binding him to the family and Star was nearly opposed to it, but David's persuasive nature seeped through to her. She gave in. Everyone gave in to David.   
  
After that, we were the unnatural kindred of Santa Carla: David and I were Fatherly Truth and Motherly Grace, Dwayne was my Eldest Shadow, Paul was the Jokester Devil; I held Marko close as my Golden Babe. Star became the Fallen Beauty, and Laddie was her Stolen Youth. All thanks are sent to Max for his initial gift and to that bottle of David's blood. Without Max there would be no blood, and without the blood we would be the useless rogues we felt like from time to time. It could be lonely without them. I thank whoever in the sky was listening that I had them and had this beauty in my veins. For them to drink was to be delivered from their personal hell; to take them in was, for myself, to deliver.  
  
~FIN~ 


End file.
